


Acting Director

by brotherfuckers



Series: Striderclan [71]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Sickfic, WAFF, adventures in hollywood, director!Dave(ish)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 03:54:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brotherfuckers/pseuds/brotherfuckers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>D gets sick, so Dave pays him a visit and ends up taking over as acting director by becoming his liaison while D finds it hard to speak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Acting Director

The first thing that he notices is that D’s eyes are red. Well, more red than usual--and red in places that they shouldn’t be red in. Then he notices the inflammation on his cheeks and neck. He’s sweaty, his skin is blotchy and his usually Hollywood-immaculate hair is disheveled in every way. In the most eloquent way possible, Dave observes, “you look like shit.”

D lets out something that is obviously supposed to be a laugh but sounds more like a wheezing dog that just got kicked in the ribs. Somewhere inside of the apartment an alarm goes off. D steps aside just far enough to let Dave in and go to it, but Dave takes control of the situation and instead pushes D to the couch. D falls into a coughing fit halfway there, so Dave has to work around the convulsions in his chest to get him to sit. He leaves D in the middle of the fit to lock the door and move into the kitchen to silence the microwave.

He gathers the chicken noodle soup out of the machine and shuts the door to it again. When he hears D stop coughing, he calls over his shoulder to ask, “when was the last time you took some cough syrup?”

“Bout an howar an’ a halv agoh,” he answers. His voice is gravelly and the sound of it makes him sound sicker than he probably is. Dave winces in sympathy and carries the hot soup out to him on a rag. D accepts it and begins to loudly slurp it down, being forced to breathe out of his mouth as he eats. Dave leaves him to eat in peace as he goes back to the kitchen to clean up his mess. As he sets the can aside to be recycled, Dave comes face to face with two translucent-orange cylinders, each with a different size pill in them, and a white case roughly half the size and a little wider than the other two. He recognizes one as an anti-inflammatory, one is amoxicillin and he’s vaguely positive he got that when he had his wisdom teeth out so it has to be some sort of an infection-reducer and white one is labeled as Mucinex.

“When was the last time you took these meds?”

“I dohn’ neeeed ta take ‘em dil noon.” Dave’s first reaction is to pull his phone out and check until he realizes that he hasn’t switched his phone’s timezone over yet. He turns his head to look at the microwave. If the green lines are right, then there’s another hour thirteen before he can take them again. “I can take da myuceenecks dou.”

Dave’s nose crinkles at the size of the pill, but he pours D some water and takes it to him anyway. Dave smiles when he gets it down and he kisses D’s temple before he leaves him to finish his food. D’s in the kitchen within ten minutes and is rinsing out his bowl. Dave has to wrestle with him to get him back to the couch, but D’s coughing fit lets him win. Dave turns the TV onto something gentle before he returns to the kitchen. He wets and wrings out a rag.

In the living room, Dave drags the wet rag over D’s skin. He maneuvers their bodies so that D has his head on Dave’s lap. D smiles tiredly up at him as Dave continues to wet his skin. D hums as he does so, a quiet thank-you for taking care of him. “Bro said you were only threatening to come.” His voice is still gravely but the Mucinex has cleared his sinuses and it makes it easier to understand him.

“I told Bro to down play it. Wanted to see your reaction.”

“He called after your plane lifted off so I could clean.” He sniffles a little before tiredly rubbing the back of his head against Dave’s legs. Dave folds the towel up and rests it on D’s forehead. “Didn’t do it, though.”

Dave looks around the apartment. It’s not necessarily the cleanest place--there are bits and pieces of papers laying around everywhere, a pile of tissues inside a plastic bag not too far from D’s foot, but other than that, it’s cleaner than their apartment in Texas has been in a while. The felt scraps from Bro’s smuppets have been known to get stuck in some of the most ridiculous places. The most recent catastrophic location had to do with the dryer, felt shrinkage and a little bit of meltage. Dirk’s jeans will never be the same.

Beyond the scraps, there’s the coffee table. There are papers with half-formed scribbles of words and what appears to be some sort of manuscript as well as a few others miscellaneous works.

Dave starts when he hears the light, sniffly snore coming from his lap. D jerks a little in his sleep, but remains thoroughly outcold. He chuckles a little, watching his older brother nap away his cold. He lets his hand rest on D’s shoulder, wishing that he had at least let Dave stand up and get him a blanket before he fell asleep. D snores away, nose tucked comfortably into Dave’s belly button as his sickness comfortably tucks him into bed and kisses his forehead.

He spends his time watching the television, trying not to think about the scribbles resting on the coffee table. Eventually the program ends and Dave shakes D awake. D is bleary and confused when Dave gets him to finally come-to. Dave has to tell him that it’s time for his meds three times before he finally understands what’s happening and sits up enough for him to go retrieve the pills.

One of them is coated, which is nice Dave guesses. Whenever he’s sick, he prefers the coated capsules because his throat usually gets really scratchy and the coated ones go down easier. The other one isn’t coated in anything, but at least it’s smaller than the Mucinex. He refills the water and forces D to drink them both down before he falls back asleep. D is awake for a total of seven minutes before he passes out on the couch again.

Dave takes the moment to take a much-needed piss break. After he’s done with that, he turns to the bedroom and pulls the blanket off the bed. The bedroom is a lot dirtier than the rest of the apartment, with blankets and meaningless objects thrown every which way. Dave can hardly bring himself to blame D for it, though. Being sick makes everything suck.

He drapes the blanket over D’s body, grabs some of the scribbled on papers and sits in the armchair near D’s head. After a moment of thought, he stands back up and gets a  
colder wash cloth to put on D’s forehead. He then returns to the armchair and starts flipping through the script and D’s notes.

Most of the notes are illegible, but when he finds some that are readable, he realizes they’re mostly about blocking and preferred angles of shots. The script itself is cut up into different scenes and notated by Pre- and Post-Death “acts” (he assumes this is some sort of way to determine where the intermission would go in a play). D’s scribbling on the script is a lot easier to read than his other notes, so he thinks that it was annotated before he got sick. He recognizes most of the terms D used from remarks that a past director has used or D has used himself. There are cuts to be made and two scenes (of the forty-nine listed) have stars on them and a number to note where they were wrapped at. The last page was at some point a cover page, but it’s covered almost entirely by D’s frustrated doodlings and some scribbles complaining about how Andrea is a professional and shouldn’t need to be coached as much as she is.

After observing the notes on the page, Dave decides to read through the script. Most of it isn’t too bad--the characters are pretty archetypal and the scenes are rather straightforward until the end, where the ingenue suddenly reveals that she was the villain all along. Absolutely no foreshadowing whatsoever happens in any of the dialogue, but D has made some pretty heavy notes to mark out where the foreshadowing in the movie shots will occur. Dave picks up a red pen off the coffee table and starts marking out some other places that foreshadowing could happen and recommends a few scene changes compared to what D had originally planned. He doesn’t change the dialogue any, but he adjusts some of the lighting cues and suggests a few close ups where they hadn’t been any before. It’ll be enough to cast doubt onto the ingenue-turned-villain without expressly saying “hey this is the bitch that murdered three people and is holding her boyfriend’s little sister captive for some ransom money”.

D is still asleep by the time Dave starts pantry raiding and makes himself some grub to make it through the night. After he’s all filled up and ready for bed, he grabs his suitcase from beside the front door and takes it into D’s room. He brushes his teeth, changes into a pair of sleeping pants and braves the impossible: he wakes D and sends him to bed.

Come the morning, D wakes up before Dave does. Dave blames the jetlag, regardless of the accuracy, when he wakes up to the sound of D sneezing in the shower. He groans as he stands up, making his way into the bathroom with him.

“How you feeling?” He asks over the sound of the rushing water.

“Like shit,” D mutters. “Took my meds already, before you ask. I have work in about forty minutes, so you can stay or you can come along. I saw some of your edits to the script”--he sneezes again, this time cursing as soon as he finishes--”they look good.”

“Thought you might like them. Did ya eat?” He stifles a yawn behind his hand, coming up from it by blinking back the tears. He hears D chuckle a little in the shower.

“The _real_ question is: how long can I keep it down for?”

“You need to puke?”

“Not yet,” his voice is just barely over the sound of the water, a quiet mumble hidden around the cascade of his personal waterfall, “but I won’t be surprised when I do. So you stayin’ or you goin’?”

“I’ll go. _Someone_ needs to make sure you get taken care of.”

“Dave, I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, but do you _want_ to?”

* * *

The studio isn’t impressive, but at the same time it doesn’t leave him wanting for more. It’s everything that Dave expected it to be: a tall, warehouse-like building with a bunch of trucks and trailers out front. D drives around to the back after waving at some of the men carrying in what looks like parts to a set.

“Which one’s Andrea?” Dave asks as they pull into park. D hums for a moment, waving at another coworker-or-subordinate as she climbs out of her own car.

“She plays Sofie”--alright, the not-ingenue can’t act, good to know--”why do you ask?”

“Saw your scribbles. I want to know who I gotta defend my bro from if we have to.”

“Most of this is going to be pretty straightforward, Dave,” he chuckles, sending a warm smile over. Dave returns it with a lighthearted grin. “I appreciate the sentiment, though.”

“I’m here to help you get better,” he retorts, shaking one of the bottles of pills as he does so. D rolls his eyes behind his shades as he claps his hand on Dave’s right shoulder. Dave presses up against his side, hidden underneath D’s long and slender arm. “If getting better means I get to be the one to yell at Andrea, then I’m pretty excited for it.”

“Just don’t make her hate me.”

“I don’t think it’s possible to hate you. Maybe be mad at or get offended from, but hate is a pretty strong word. Unless you killed that person’s spouse, at which point I would get mad because you didn’t ask me to help you get rid of the body.”

“For the record, I would ask for your help before I would ask for Bro’s. He’d go straight for chemical decomposition, but you would go for something a lot more original.”

“At least someone appreciates my originality.”

“Whatever you say, SBAHJ,” he chuckles. Dave sticks his tongue out at him for only a fraction of a second, but it’s still long enough for D to catch it and chuckle. The chuckle turns into a coughing fit that makes him pull off of Dave and bend over nearly double. Dave, calmly, directs him to put his hands over his head so that he wouldn’t bend too far in and worsen the fit. D comes out of it red in the face and gasping for breath, trying to put on a brave face despite the fact that Dave knows he just wants to go back home and sleep it off.

D manages to swing it so that one of the backstage crew grabs an extra chair for Dave to sit in. He’s all sweet smiles and charming words when he does so and Dave marvels at the obvious difference between Real-D and Hollywood-D. He had seen the difference before--this isn’t his first rodeo in Hollywood, after all--but the distinct difference is a little bit like whiplash. One second, they’re making playful jabs at each other and the next, D is playing politics and winning.

Dave can only hope that he’ll be that good when he finally makes his Hollywood debut.

The actors and actresses are immediately sent to wardrobe and makeup. D flips through the script, finding the scene that he told the “Technical Artists” (a fancy phrase for “backstage people”) that they would be starting with today. A frown etches its way onto his older brother’s face as he looks over their combined notes.

“It’s Chloe’s day off,” D points out, “so we can’t do any scenes with Madison in it.” From what Dave can remember, Madison is the name of the child character who was kidnapped and is being held ransom by Sofie. “Otherwise, we’ll end up reshooting and wasting film. Wait here, I want to go give some of the camera instructions to the film crew.”

“I don’t think so. You go anywhere and I follow. I don’t want to you to end up doing something stupid that I can’t help you with because you’re too far away.” Dave slips out of the chair and waits for D to stand up next to him. The skinny fucker doesn’t even have to try to slip out; he’s so tall that he stands like a normal human being. “Let’s go.”

“Fine,” D shrugs his shoulders and leads him over to the head of the film crew, some asshole with a nonstop scowl on his face. Black hair, slight slump in his shoulders as he works on powering up the machinery, tall fucker but still not as tall as D. “Hey, we gotta talk about some of the shots.”

“Thought we did it yesterday, Strider,” he replies. Dave glances between them to make sure it’s not some unnecessary confrontation, but D isn’t affected at all. The cameraman seems to be the kind of guy that gets on everybody’s bad side on first impressions. Just the kind of guy that Dave could like, actually. “What else do I have to add to my repertoire of needless shot for a B-Rated movie?”

It won’t be B-Rated. Dave has to keep himself from slapping each reason into the cameraman’s face in order to keep looks up for D’s sake. D just grins at the guy’s joke and continues on, “after reviewing the script a few times, we decided”--he coughs over his shoulder. One cough becomes two, then three and finally Dave is taking the script from D’s hands as D works to sort out his coughing.

“We decided that there were a few more shots that we could do to force some foreshadowing during the editing process,” Dave answers. The cameraman finally looks up from the expensive equipment and raises his brow at D before turning to Dave.

“Is Director Man going to be ok?”

“It’s just a cold. Anyway, we figured some close ups around here”--he turns the script around and points out a few lines. The cameraman picks up his own heavily annotated script and a pen from the other side of the camera, marking out the same passages Dave is showing him--”would be pretty good. And then there’s this part here”--he points to a new spot--”that we thought we could get some half-cast lights so that we can emphasize what she’s saying. It’s raining out anyway.”

“Gotta talk to Lights for that, kid.”

“First of all, not a kid. Second of all, I wanted to warn you so we would be on the same page.”

“I call everyone ‘kid’. Part of my goal to piss everyone off around here. Who’d you say you were again?”

“Dave Strider, media liaison for this guy”--he shoves his thumb in D’s direction as the man starts wheezing as he catches his breath--”so long as he’s sick.”

“I like you, Strider. You don’t take shit from anyone. That’s a good quality if you’re going to be like this idiot and do something out here in Idiotsville.”

“You seem to like working out here just fine.”

“Paying my way through college,” he shrugs one shoulder, then grins lightheartedly. “Much longer and I can’t use that excuse anymore. Anyway, Lights is that way”--he makes a vague motion to somewhere that Dave doesn’t have the time to see--”you’d better clear the half-cast with them. Any other notes for us or are we all good?”

“We’ve got notes for some other scenes. If we manage to get this to wrap, we’ll come over to you. Plan is to run this scene, scene sixteen and scene seventeen today--if we can.”

“Fair enough. I gotta instruct my people, so--”

“Good luck,” D mutters. His voice is still harsh from his coughing fit, but the cameraman doesn’t seem to care. He waves them off, letting D lead Dave over to where he had pointed at earlier. “Thanks for that, Dave.”

“I told you: I’m here to help you survive. Other than lights, who do we have to talk to?”

“For the close ups, we’ll need to get a makeup tech on-deck, so we’ll talk to them. And then wardrobe should be notified about the change in schedule. We’ll need them as runners, though. Never know when something will go wrong.” D raises his hand to catch the attention of someone on a rig. He raises his scratchy voice, straining to make it loud enough for him to hear, “Gotta a minute?”

“Gimme a sec!” A decidedly feminine voice tosses back. Now that Dave has the chance to squint through the lights, he can see the slight curves on her body. Yep, decidedly female by birth. The short hair and the angle he saw her from definitely gave her a male body type though. She tugs a rope tightly and then slips under the metal railing, slipping down a ladder to get to ground level. When she touches down, she releases the bun on the back of her head, letting long hair spread over her shoulders. “Sup, boss man?”

Dave interrupts before D has the chance to talk. “For scene fifteen, there are a few parts where we wanted to alter some lighting to make it go along with the storm outside. Most of it will keep along with the lighting in the latter half of scene fourteen, but there is one spot where we’ll need to go half-cast.”

“Who’s the twerp?” She asks, turning to D. D just grins and laughs to himself, his shoulders shaking with the urge to keep silent.

“The ‘twerp’ is the guy who’s voice you’ll be hearing today. This idiot went and got himself sick, so he needs someone to speak for him. Now, if we’re really going to do this, do I need to beat your ass down or can we just agree that I’m his voice.”

“Yo, chill out, bro. I was just kiddin’. It’s a ‘joke’. Do you have those where you’re from?”

“We have southern comfort and brawls from the age of three.”

“Got a lot uh spunk, ey Deedee? What’s your name?”

“Dave.”

“Shit! You’re the infamous Dave Strider, Strider Extraordinaire.”

“So you’ve heard of me?”

“When you work with this guy for as long as I have, you learn a thing or two. I would have thought you were that Dirk from the way you talk. That’s pretty impressive. Man, D, I’m impressed. Your kid brother’s a lot taller than you said. Well,” she pauses, nodding her head to the side, “taller on me than he is you. Damn kid, it’s nice to finally meet’cha. I’m D’s Lead Lights Technician. You’ve probably seen my name in a few of his credit rolls, so I’m not gonna bore you any more than possible. Oh, shit, I’m ramblin’. A’ight, so where’s this half-cast mojo gun go?” He turns a few pages and points out where they want the half cast to go, then explains that it’s for a close up shot. “Do-able. Definitely do-able. Man this movie just gets sicker an’ sicker. Can’t wait to see the finished project. But tell Andrea. Fuck, I don’t envy you. One of those actresses where it’s her way or a temper tantrum. Prolly acts younger than you are, Dave, even with a decade under her skin. Alright, shoo, gotta speech it up o’er ‘ere.”

“Good luck,” D wishes.

“I think what you mean is ‘break a leg’, Deedee.”

“I don’t see you on the set.”

“Just wait until I say the word.”

“Don’t jinx it, ass.”

“It’s just a joke.”

D rolls his eyes and turns, leading Dave away. They’re a good six steps away when she starts yelling after her crew, leaving both of the Striders to grimace at her volume. The farther away they get, the easier it is to manage.

On their way out to the trailers, the man that D waved to as they were pulling in stops them and asks if there are any set changes. D shakes his head, saying quickly, “just make sure that the green screens behind the windows are still in-tact.” The three of them depart ways quickly, leaving Dave to help D through another cough attack and to get outside. “Andrea will be in the makeup trailer,” D mutters through what little breath he has, “So we should hit wardrobe first. It’s this way, c’mon.”

The wardrobe “Department” is really just a trailer that is filled to the brim with the few sets of clothes that the movie is going to take and a few cubicles just outside of it for the actors and actresses to change into. Standing a few feet away from the trailer is a man holding a clipboard. D clears his throat of phlegm as they get closer, calling the man’s attention. “Where’s your boss?”

“Day off. Kindercare fiasco. She had to call it in. Jessie was supposed to inform you.”

“Haven’t seen Jessie yet.”

“Well, what’s up? Sudden change in plans or something?”

“No, just wanted to check in and make sure everything is running smoothly.”

The man deflates and rolls his eyes. “Your actors are fantastic and Bee is a dream, but fuckin’ Andrea is a pain in the ass. Why do you put up with her?”

“Part of the agreement with the script writer. At this rate, it won’t be much longer. Everyone seems to hate her right now.”

“Anyone who says they like her either never met her or is lying through their teeth. Anyway, I don’t want her to overhear me and tear me a new asshole... again. Need some runners?”

“One or two would be appreciated, but if you need them to make up for your boss’ absence, I won’t mind.”

“Nah, I can spare the newbie. I’ll send him your way when we’re done over here. You going to make up?”

“Sadly.”

“God help us all.”

Dave is starting to think that there’s more to this Andrea-can’t-act schtick, but he keeps himself from pointing it out. If there’s one thing Hollywood-D taught him, it’s that withholding information until the last viable moment is usually the best course of action. It gets you a better understanding of the situation, it ensure you have a trump card and your Ace is usually protected when you do. The two of them walk over to another trailer that has the letters “MK Depot” painted on the side in runny, dripping, dark pink paint.

Outside of the trailer, D doubles over in another coughing fit that brings tears to his eyes and makes it sound like he’s some sort of dying horse. Dave kneels beside him, leaning his hand onto D’s shoulder in an effort to comfort him. When the coughing dies down, he smiles sweetly and asks, “better?”

“The sooner I can sit, the better,” he moans. His voice is even weaker than before and he’s on the verge of losing it. Dave nods his head, helping him stand up. He knocks on the door to the trailer, only to hear a woman call that it’s open.

Inside, D has to stoop over in order to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling. Part of Dave really wants to laugh at that, but he holds it in. There’s a woman working on another woman’s makeup--probably Andrea’s, if D is to be believed. The makeup artist glances over her shoulder and smiles at D. “Paulie’s doing a coffee run. Bless his heart. You here to change it up or can I keep working?”

“You can keep working,” Dave answers for D. D relaxes beside him, hiding his smile as he pats Dave’s shoulder as a thank-you. “But can we talk at you while you’re doing it?”

“I don’t mind. What’s your name? You look to be pretty young to shadow our director.”

“Media liaison,” he corrects. “This guy’s ‘bout ready to lose his voice.”

“I told you that you were sick!” She laughs a little and returns to humming as she pats some foundation cream on Andrea’s face.

“Anyway, we’re here about scene fifteen. There have been a few changes to the lighting of it and we want to be able to get someone from makeup to be there when we do a closeup of Sofie’s face.”

“Whoa, wait,” Andrea interrupts. She brings her hand up and pushes the artist away, much to the woman’s chagrin. “What do you mean there have been changes? What closeups? I can’t do a closeup today! I have a pimple the size of fucking Broadway on my cheek! I can’t even do a normal scene, let alone a close up! Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

No, actually, Dave doesn’t see even the slightest of mounds to suggest in the littlest bit of a pimple, pre or post squeeze. Her face is rather clean and immaculate, for having only half of it covered in foundation and primer, with dots marking the rest of her face. “That’s what photoshop is for. I assure you, you will look your best for the film.”

“Bullshit! And who the hell is this brat supposed to be fooling? Who the hell are you to be talking to me like that? Do you know who I am?”

Ok. ‘Twerp’ and ‘kid’ he can put up with, but ‘brat’? The only people allowed to call him a brat come from his family and have probably had their dicks in or around him at some point of time. This woman that he doesn’t even know is not someone that is allowed to call him a ‘brat’!

He hears D start to speak, but he interrupts. “You’re Andrea, actress behind Sofie; your reputation precedes you.” The backhanded slap across the face appeases the woman enough to let her lean back in the chair. She doesn’t even look like she registered the fact that his tone was dismissing and as offensive as he could be without fucking D over with it. “I’m not here to fool anyone. I’m just here to make sure you don’t burn down the set while D is taking his antibiotics. And no one told you that there have been changes because they happened literally seven minutes ago and you were too busy being some self-important priss to interrupt any earlier.”

“Excuse me?”

“Did I stutter?” A pause, then when she doesn’t reply he grins to himself. D sighs harshly at his side, but Dave doesn’t pause to think about the meaning behind that gesture. “Good. It’s just a few simple close-up shots; we probably won’t even use most of them. Beyond that, you’re expected to react to the storm and flickering lights. When you make your remark about Madison, then you’re also expected to pause as that’s where we’ll cut to a closeup that pans from the magazine you set down to your face.

“Which is also the reason we’re here to ask for one of the makeup crew to be present.” He turns to the makeup artist that Andrea had rudely interrupted before. “We would like to have someone on-hand to be ready to adjust her makeup as will be necessary for a close up shot.”

“I can do it as soon as Paulie gets back,” she nods her head.

“Wait, you can’t just talk to me like that, brat-”

“Name’s Dave,” he snaps, glaring at her. She shrinks back, even despite the fact that his eyes are still covered. “Now you can wait here and have this lady finish your makeup so you don’t look fucking ridiculous when you pretend to take your anger out on me, like a fucking human being would.”

Andrea reels back a bit, shocked, and D casually begins to squeeze Dave’s shoulder. The makeup artist nods at Dave, waving them off of the trailer before Andrea has the chance to truly explode. D stops Dave outside of the trailer, sighing at him as he says, “Do you have any idea what you just did?”

“I snapped at her and told her to stay in line.... Is this a trick question?”

“What did she even do?”

“She called me a brat!”

“Bro and I call you that all the time.”

“Exactly. She’s known me for two seconds. She can’t call me that.”

D sighs again and shakes his head. “Just... be careful. Andrea may be replaceable, but I don’t want to waste film or anything else on getting a new actress this far into the shooting.”

“Alright, I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

D coughs twice, wheezing out a quick “thank you” before he falls into more coughs. Dave gently leads him back to the chairs they had started the day out at. Dave looks around, searching for somewhere that he can get water from, when he comes across the snack table out in the corner. The caterer is still setting up, but there are water bottles on the corner of the table, just resting there. He leaves D just long enough to run and grab one. The caterer looks up when he sees someone moving out of the corner of his eye and Dave smiles briefly as he hurries back over to D.

D accepts the water, gulping three drinks down rapidly. He comes up gasping, but at least the coughing fit is gone. He has Dave sit down before the first shot starts. The first shot is just a test to record the day, date, time of production, and it’s immediately called a cut by the cameraman they talked to earlier. The next shot doesn’t start until after all the actors and actresses have been gathered together.

* * *

 

D calls cut nineteen times in the course of an hour and a half, each one either somewhat related to Andrea or directly because of her. She asks for her line fourteen times which is, in itself, unacceptable considering she had the script for three months and was allowed to memorize at her own pace. She also asks for her motivation five times.

At the fifth one, Dave finally speaks up, replying, “you’re a woman who’s secretly holding your boyfriend’s sister hostage and you don’t want to be caught, so you’re putting on an innocent front. What the fuck do you think your motivation is?”

He can hear the crickets outside the moment he says it. He knows it’s the wrong thing to say, but he’s not officially part of the production and can’t be fired for speaking out what’s on everybody’s mind. Andrea glares at him, daggers digging into his chest, but he’s had worse. Sure maybe tonight D might be a little grumpy and not want to talk to him, but beyond that he can’t see any repercussions of his action biting him.

When Andrea doesn’t reply, Dave continues on. “You’ve been acting for a few years now. You’re a grown woman. You know what’s expected of you and you know what is expected of the character. You’re educated as well. So why the fuck do you think for even a second that you need to be spoon fed the answers to this? I’m sure if you even try to think about this for a second, you’ll come up with some answer. So stop acting like an idiot and pretend for a few seconds like you’re capable of caring for yourself. That way, we can stop wasting film and we can start cranking out these scenes.”

No response. The glare melts from Andrea’s eyes, being replaced by a humiliated stare. Slowly, the cameraman begins to applaud. He’s the only one that does, but Dave appreciates the motion while so many empty stares glare at him.

Andrea covers her face in her hands and stage-whispers, “can we just work on scene sixteen?”

“Sure,” D answers. “Do you need a minute?”

She shakes her head, takes a deep breath and stands up straight. Her face isn’t red enough to get in the way, but Dave can still see the slight wobble in her lip. He doesn’t see tears, so he’s not afraid that he’s made her cry.

He’s not the only one that is surprised when they finish scene sixteen perfectly the first way through. They have the actors record the scene two more times, each just as good as the last, for editing purposes. Then they move on.

D has him call for a lunch when they finish scene seventeen. They take down the majority of the set to let them fan out and eat. D doesn’t touch much food, stomach still too knotted up from his cold to eat a lot. Dave takes his share anyway.

They’re halfway through lunch when Andrea finds him. Her face is red again and her eyes sparkle, but there aren’t tears in there. She calls his name to get his attention and he turns, only to receive a tight hug from the frustrating actress. She whispers in his ear, hugs just a little tighter, and then jogs off to go eat on the set.

D raises his eyebrow at him. Dave shrugs and replies, “I guess she was thanking me?”

* * *

 

They shoot scenes fifteen through eighteen that day. A whole extra scene than what they were planning on. They could have gone on longer, but Dave could see how horrible D felt and had them close shot for a nice little half-day of work. Dave drives D home, letting him nap in the passenger seat as they make their way back to D’s apartment.

Hustling the half-asleep director into the elevator is the most hilarious experience Dave has ever had the luck to witness. It winds up with D tripping twice, half-snoring as they walk and complaining about moving the entire way. The moment they’re on the right floor, D takes the lead and goes straight to his apartment, where he proceeds to crash on his couch. Dave has to fight with him to take his meds, so water goes flying and winds up with both of them having soaking shirts. D does eventually get the medicine down and then slumps back off to sleep.

Dave answers a phone call an hour into D’s nap. The desk clerk downstairs is calling about some sort of delivery. Dave tells her that he’ll be down within the next few minutes to pick it up. He steals D’s key from him before finding himself in the elevator for the third time that day.

Down at the desk, there’s a small bouquet waiting for him. It’s not an over-the-top Hollywood bouquet, but it is a homely little Texas bouquet with all the flowers and none of the glamour. He accepts it from the clerk and heads back upstairs, vase and all. Up in the apartment, he opens the window and leaves them out there. He brings the flowers a little too close to his face and something made of cardboard scratches across his jaw. He pulls back, only to find a small card with cursive words written in black ink.  
 _To D & Dave  
Thank you, and I’m sorry._

It’s not signed, but Dave knows exactly who it’s from. He doesn’t understand why she’s thanking him, but it’s nice to be thanked. Even if all he did was demean her for acting like some spoiled child who can’t decide how to make their choices. He leaves the subject alone, setting the flowers on the windowsill for now. Half of it is to keep the pollen out of the house and the other half is so that the smell doesn’t disturb D’s healing process.

He sits and watches TV, resting his hand on D’s head as time passes.

D wakes up with foggy eyes and a yawn. Dave smiles at him and asks, “how d’you feel?”

“Better than before.” He looks better, too. The swelling has gone down and the redness in his eyes isn’t as strong. He still sounds congested, but at least he doesn’t look like shit to go along with it. “What’s that smell?”

“Flowers. Andrea sent them.”

“Why?”

“As a thank-you.”

“You,” D laughs. He slides over on the couch and cups Dave’s face in his hands, despite the space between the couch and the armchair. “You are a miracle worker. We got more done today than we have ever gotten done before. That--That was amazing.”

“I’m glad you appreciate it.”

D seals their lips together in a chaste kiss. Dave pulls away, laughing, and smiles as he playfully snaps, “don’t give me all of your sick-germs!”

“Get back here, my sick-germs are going to make your face a party plate.”

“D!” He laughs, falling backwards against the armchair as D pulls him into a hug. “D, watch out! You’re going to break something!”

“You’re coming with me to work again tomorrow,” D decides, holding him tightly to better tickle him with. Dave scootches around, avoiding his fingers without laughing. “And you’re going to be awesome and amazing and we’re going to get shit done and we might actually have time to edit this masterpiece, holy fuck, you are amazing, Dave.”

“All I did was yell at her!”

“You are a godsend.”

“I don’t understand why you’re happy with this.”

“Because my job suddenly became much easier.”

“Why couldn’t you just yell at her?”

“Because of reasons. Politics of the workforce. That kind of thing. Holy shit I love you, Dave. You are amazing and wonderful and awesome and-”

“While all of this is true and flattering, can I piss before you squirm around on my bladder any more?”

D laughs again, pressing his wet, sick lips against Dave’s temple. “No.”

“Here to help.”

“You helped more than you realize.”

Dave sticks his tongue out. D returns the gesture.

**Author's Note:**

> For more information please check out our work at striderclan.tumblr.com; we have more stories, head canons, art/pictures.


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